


Demon, My Demon

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: What happens after Mulder retrieves Krycek from Skinner's balcony. Set during *Tunguska*.





	Demon, My Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Demon, My Demon by MariaJ

December 13, 1997

Author's note: This is *not* part of my "The Bitter Secret of My Heart"-series; it's an over-reaction to watching Tunguska three times in a row and realizing that hey, there are a lot of *other* places where Mulder and Krycek can have sex, apart from Skinner's apartment and/or the prison cell.   
Disclaimer: Krycek and Mulder still belong to CC, 1013 and Fox. They'd have a fit if they read this (or maybe they'd just laugh). It's NC-17 and if you're under age or if the thought of two men having sex makes you sick I suggest you stop reading here and now.  
Summary: Actually, Misha put it best in one of her comments: "Krycek, behave, you're going to get him mad enough to have sex with you... if you're not careful." :-)))))))))))))))))  
The people who cheered me on this time: Elizabeth B, Jeannie, Misha, Susie, torch and Yvette. Take a bow, ladies.

MKRA: yes.   
Gossamer or Usenet: no.

* * *

Demon, My Demon   
by MariaJ  
<>  
June 1997

He gave Alex Krycek a vicious shove into the apartment and slammed the door hard behind them. He was angry; no, in fact, he was hopping mad. He felt as if he would explode any minute, as if every cell in his body had decided to emigrate in its own direction. He felt like hitting something, and somewhere in the back of his mind, where his sanity was skulking in fear, he knew that he'd punched Krycek too much already, that he'd crossed that invisible line between right and wrong a long time ago. And it scared him that he couldn't stop.

"What're we doing here, Mulder?" 

Krycek hadn't uttered a word since Mulder had talked to Scully on the phone in Skinner's apartment. Maybe something in Mulder's countenance had warned Krycek not to try to push this further, to aggravate his companion even more. He'd wisely kept his silence all the way back to Mulder's place. Mulder should've known it had been too perfect to last much longer.

He threw his coat on a chair and ran a hand through his hair. He wished he knew what to do next. It had started out so innocently, so uncomplicated. Someone had been sending him receipts, tipping him off about a militia group making bombs. Setting up this operation had been easy, and Skinner and his superiors had been insultingly pleased and grateful. Fox Mulder wasn't chasing invisible green men, or prehistoric monsters, oh no, this time he was after something tangible, something real: evil bombers. For once he was using his intelligence for something *intelligent*. No one had actually told him this, but he'd seen it in their faces, in their eyes. 

<Maybe it isn't too late to make him see some sense.>

It made him even madder just to think about it.

The second Mulder saw Krycek getting out of the truck, he'd felt as if he'd stepped into the twilight zone. As if planet earth had slowly stopped and then started to spin in the other direction. But then, his world always felt like that when he was with Krycek. 

'Follow the pouch,' Krycek had yelled. Easier said than done. Follow the pouch. What did Krycek think he was? A fucking Alsatian?

"Why haven't you arrested me yet, Mulder?" Krycek said. He'd sat down on the couch, leaning his head back against the wall, putting his feet up on the table. "What're you afraid of? That I'll tell them?"

"And what can you possibly tell anyone that *I* have to be afraid of?"

"Ummm... I can think of a few things..." Krycek had that smug look on his face again, the one Mulder really hated. It implied that Krycek knew his darkest secrets, that he was in fact only allowing Mulder to get his way with him because, for some weird reason, it pleased him at the moment. "How about: Fox Mulder is a slut."

"Shut up!"

He had no right to be that comfortable. He was a murderer and a killer, he shouldn't be sitting in Mulder's living room looking as if he belonged there. Mulder quickly and firmly quashed earlier memories of Krycek on that couch and dragged him up on his feet. That didn't deter Krycek from continuing with his blackmail though.

"Fox Mulder likes it anywhere," he taunted, voice quivering somewhere between gleeful and horny. "The back seat of our car, down in the X-Files office, that ferry, during a stakeout, outdoors, indoors... lemme see, where else did we do it..."

The impact of the blow sent him reeling, and since Krycek was still cuffed, he couldn't keep his balance and ended up in a humiliating heap on the floor, blood beginning to seep from his nose. Mulder winced from the pain in his hand, waving it around a bit in that ineffectual way people always do and impassively watched Krycek scrambling up into a standing position again. The blood had started to flow faster, dripping on Krycek's T-shirt and on Mulder's floor.

"I could sue you for this."

"Don't make me laugh, Krycek."

He took Krycek by the scruff of his jacket and propelled him into the bathroom. Then he removed the cuff around Krycek's right wrist and put it around one of the water-pipes instead. The wrist was red, chafed and swollen; it looked very painful. He should probably take Krycek to see a doctor to make absolutely sure it wasn't sprained or worse, but Mulder satisfied himself with rummaging in the bathroom cabinet, finding some salve.

"Here. And wash up. You look awful."

"And you could use a cold shower," Krycek mumbled. "To make you calm down." It was meant as an insult, not as a piece of good advice. Mulder had gone too far this time, and he was very well aware of that. Hitting Krycek as he stepped out of the truck was one thing, pushing him while interrogating him was okay, watching Skinner manhandling him had sent Mulder home with a raging hard-on; but this last punch was really one too many. 

He silently swore that he wouldn't hit Krycek again. At least, he would *try* not to hit him again. Krycek was so irritating, like a stone in your shoe, or having the sun in your eyes while you were driving. Mulder found it absolutely impossible to sustain any sort of rational thinking around him. But feeling guilty or not, he had to do *something* to wipe that smug look off Krycek's face. 

"You know, you're right. I feel kinda grimy." He shrugged out of his jacket, removed his tie and tugged the shirt and T-shirt over his head without unbuttoning. Krycek was staring at him now, mouth open. "What?"

"Nothing."

Krycek bent to his task, carefully washing the blood from under his nose, softly rubbing salve on his wrist. But Mulder knew that under those long eyelashes of his, Krycek was watching Mulder as he hurriedly removed the rest of his clothes and then walked around the bathroom naked, showing himself off, teasing Krycek who was visibly gulping for air, especially when Mulder stretched over him to fetch the shampoo from the top of the bathroom cabinet, their bodies touching for a tantalizing second.

"Sorry. Two is a crowd in here." The grimace on Krycek's face was ample reward for the discomfort he'd put Mulder through lately. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon and couldn't wait for more. Served him right. Mulder stepped into the shower cabin, taking the key to the handcuffs with him. 

Trust no one.

The water felt wonderful on Mulder's sweaty skin. He'd been running around like a maniac for the last twenty-four hours, not getting any sleep, not eating anything more substantial than coffee and a donut, and he was beginning to feel tired. 

He heard Krycek moving on the other side of the shower curtain, cuffs rattling against the water-pipe. He remembered their first time together, how their eyes had met over hamburgers and fries and they had both realized at the exact same moment that they would go out to their car after the meal, drive to the nearest quiet spot and indulge in some serious carnal knowledge. 

Mulder had known it was pure lunacy from the start, but he'd been so fascinated by the younger man that he hadn't been able to restrain himself. He'd let down his guard and opened his heart. To a traitor. 

He wanted to kill Krycek. 

But first he wanted to fuck him.

"Mulder..." He turned off the water. "I could use a shower too."

"No."

He sighed, turned the water back on, and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, letting his hands flow downwards with the lather. He wanted Krycek; he wasn't even going to try to deny that. He wanted him now, and he wanted him so badly he could barely stand up straight. In here, in the shower cabin, naked and willing and hot, pressed up against the cool tiles of the wall. Gasping. Moaning. Screaming. Mulder swayed and had to put out a hand to steady himself. He turned off the water again. It was getting way too warm in here, warm and humid. He could scarcely breathe.

"Fox..." He hated it when Krycek called him Fox. He had a way of saying it that was a heady mixture between a sigh and a pant. It drove him nuts. "This isn't a game, you know. These people are dangerous. You have to think clearly."

"I think."

"With your brain, Mulder, not your dick. You need to get laid, relieve some of that tension." He glanced down at himself, nipples hard brown peaks, cock standing to rigid attention against his belly. Did he need to get laid? He snorted. That was a joke. A cruel one. "Whatever you want, Fox. Anywhere you like."

"Will you shut up before I hit you again? And this time I'll break your jaw."

"My, my, we're being very macho today, aren't we?" He banged his forehead against the wall. He should have his head examined. Maybe he put it on the wrong way this morning. Scully would say he hadn't put it on at all. "I know what you like, Mulder."

He stomped out of the shower cabin, and without bothering to dry himself, Mulder unlocked the handcuffs from the water-pipe, and lead the way to the bedroom.

He yanked the cover off the bed, sending books, papers and food cartons spinning in the air. The comforter, the pillows, everything ended up on the floor until what was left was an empty, pristine bed. They stood there next to each other staring at its whiteness. 

Two months. They had been partners for two months. A measly two months, one week and four days. You'd think that that would be time enough to get to know someone. Mulder thought he had.

He ate cornflakes and milk for breakfast. "Compared to what you eat, it's positively wholesome," Krycek had said when Mulder had commented on that little quirk.

He played Simple Minds so loud on the stereo that Mulder's neighbors, who'd suffered through burglars, strange visitors and gunshots without any complaints, suddenly threatened to get him evicted.

He'd fall asleep in Mulder's arms after they'd made love, purring like a cat, and Mulder would hold him close, never wanting him to leave.

But Krycek had left him. 

Alone. 

Again.

Mulder reached out his hand and stroked Krycek's cheek, hovering over but not touching his swollen nose and split lip. 

<My fault. I'm sorry.>

Krycek passively let himself be laid down on his back, and the empty cuff was fastened round one of the rails at the top of the bed. He was still dressed, leather jacket, boots and all. Mulder opened the drawer of his bedstead, found the lubricant and a condom. Then he climbed into bed with Krycek, straddled him, resting his palms on either side of Krycek's head.

"You're dripping on me, Mulder."

"Don't be so whiny, Alex. It's just water. It could be worse. It could be some smelly, oozy, slimy goo..."

Krycek sniggered. "If that's your best pickup line, no wonder you're lonely."

"What's the one thing that I've been saying to you all day?"

"Um... shut up?"

"Exactly."

He bent down to kiss Krycek. He'd missed this so much. Krycek let him set the pace, and Mulder kissed him tenderly at first, then gradually harder, more demanding, plundering his mouth with his tongue, biting Krycek's lip. He could feel Krycek's cock straining in his jeans, bumping against Mulder's ass over and over again as Krycek started to buck his hips slightly. Mulder ended the kiss, reluctantly, gazing at the flushed face beneath him.

"If I'm a slut, Krycek, then you're a whore," he said. "At least I don't do it for money, or for favors like you do."

<Or because you think if you sleep with me I'll let you go.>

"Insults, insults, that's all I ever get from you."

"Is it?"

He sat up, placed his palms on Krycek's chest to maintain his balance and rubbed himself against Krycek's crotch, feeling the rough denim sliding under his ass and balls, scraping against the inside of his thighs. Krycek closed his eyes and moaned. Mulder felt like doing the same. He slid further down Krycek's body, straddling his legs, and started to fight with the buttons of Krycek's jeans. His hands were shaking badly, tremors running through his body at the very thought of...

Fumbling towards ecstasy. How true.

Finally he succeeded. 

"You *are* a whore, Krycek." 

"I was in a hurry."

"I'd say." 

When Mulder was nineteen, he'd had a slightly unhinged girlfriend who made up names for his private parts. Uninvited, two of them popped into his head and he laughed. He must be really far gone if he needed to get his metaphors from an ex-girlfriend who'd read too many sleazy novels.

Spear of my destruction.

Monster of my delight.

"What's so funny?" Krycek actually sounded hurt. As if Mulder was laughing at him, and not at his former girlfriend. Mulder would never treat Krycek's cock with such derision. He respected it far too much for that, closing his eyes momentarily when he remembered pleasures past. Pleasures brought to him courtesy of Krycek's cock. 

Destruction and delight. 

He knew what he wanted now.

Krycek was lying very still, eyes screwed shut, nostrils flaring every time he breathed. Mulder pushed Krycek's jeans below his knees and then ran his hands up his thighs, slowly, spreading his fingers wide. He dodged Krycek's free hand that was trying to steer him down into place and lavished a series of kisses on Krycek's stomach instead. 

<Only with you, Alex...>

Mulder lay down on top of him, and then, in one fluid movement turned them over so that he ended up at the bottom. At least this made Krycek open his eyes. Mulder loved Krycek's eyes. They reminded him of a jade figure he'd seen at a museum somewhere, a dragon of jade, luminous, delicate, green fire. 

"I thought..."

"Don't."

"You never cease to surprise me, Mulder."

"I don't want to get *too* predictable."

"No, guess not."

He wrapped his arms around Krycek's neck, pulling him down to kiss him again, groaning when Krycek's mouth evaded his and planted itself below his ear instead, sucking hard enough to give him a hickey.

That's why god invented turtlenecks.

He ran his hands over Krycek's scalp, not knowing whether he liked this crew-cut or not. Krycek looked up, reading his mind, brushing damp hair out of Mulder's eyes. "Yours is too long," he said. His hand insinuated itself between their heaving bodies, moving around in circles and squares and triangles on Mulder's chest until it located a nipple. Then it stopped and stayed to pinch and pet and be joined by a wet mouth and a pointy tongue. Mulder was soon quivering in earnest, like an aspen leaf in an autumn storm, ready to fall. And fall.

He started to laugh.

He couldn't help it. This felt *so* good. *He* felt so good. 

"You're in a strange mood today."

"It's not... I... it..."

It had been so long. Far too long. Not since sex as such, but since sex with someone who *knew*. Someone who knew *him*. Who knew about his beliefs and his nightmares, his desires and his idiosyncrasies and still didn't think he was crazy. Someone who saw him for what he was and didn't shy away. 

He laughed again. 

It was either that, or start crying.

"Mulder... are you okay?" That was pretty hilarious too. After everything Krycek had done, here he was, all of a sudden concerned over Mulder's feelings. "Maybe we should stop."

"No..." <You have to calm down.> "I'm fine." Krycek was still looking worried, wrinkled brow, tight-lipped mouth and all. Mulder took a deep breath, and then another, forcing himself to stop trembling, stop hyperventilating, stop freaking out. "I'm *all right*."

"In that case, do you think you can help me. I can't do this with only one hand." Krycek was holding the tube of lube in his right hand and Mulder started to fumble with the cap. Then the tube had to change hands, so that Mulder could squirt some lube onto Krycek's fingers. They were soon giggling hysterically and it didn't particularly improve things that their hands were shaking and sweaty. The whole procedure took about five minutes. Or so it felt.

Krycek raised himself from lying flat on top of Mulder to kneeling between his legs. His left hand was still cuffed to the rail, and Mulder shifted so that he was positioned across the bed where the pillows would have been if they hadn't all been thrown on the floor. Then he drew up his knees to his chest.

"Have you no shame, Mulder?" Krycek said, grinning. He thought about it. Did he? Nah. He couldn't even spell it. "It was a rhetorical question."

"I know. I *know*."

Krycek was hovering over him, his smile both wicked and sweet, and Mulder tugged him down again, running his hands in under Krycek's jacket and T-shirt, up his back, feeling smooth skin over firm muscles. Meanwhile, Krycek's fingers were finding their goal with lethal precision, parting his asscheeks, groping inside the cleft, rubbing the tight hole, not penetrating. Not yet.

"What do you want?"

"Hngh... "

"Fox, tell me."

No-o-o. Not now. He didn't want to play games now. He wanted to be fucked. 

"Alex, I..."

His heart was beating violently somewhere in his throat and made it almost impossible to talk. Krycek was still massaging his anus, tormenting him. Mulder knew he had to say something eventually. Krycek was a merciless teaser. And he could go on for ever and ever without giving in, no matter how much his lover would plead and threaten, beg and curse. There'd been times when Mulder had wondered if his prime objective in bed was to reduce his partner to the point where he'd betray his country for just a kiss.

"Tell me." Krycek was getting more demanding. A curious finger began to slide inside him and Mulder's hips arched up off the bed. 

"I... fu-u-uck me."

"You know you have to be more specific than that."

How the hell could Krycek be so coherent, uttering long sentences like that? Mulder couldn't even string two words together. He shuddered as Alex found his prostate. "I... want..." Another finger entered him, stretching him, preparing him. He groaned. He wanted more than fingers. He wanted...

"...your cock..."

"Where?"

<You know where.>

"Bastard."

"Here?" That was a third finger. His hips seemed to have developed a life of their own, bucking helplessly against Krycek's hand. He was going to die soon.

Could you really die from pleasure?

Did he want to find out?

"Yeeesssssss."

The fingers were withdrawn and he keened in disappointment, feeling empty. Fingers hadn't been that bad after all; it was certainly better than nothing. "Mulder... hey... can you focus for five seconds?"

"Of course I can..." he said peevishly, "...why?"

Krycek held up the condom. Mulder took it, handling it carefully. The last thing he wanted was to have to postpone anything because he'd torn the condom and had to find a new one. Getting it out of the foil went well, applying it to Krycek's throbbing cock went even better. He watched the rapt look on his lover's face when he caressed his erection, feeling it jump in his hand, flinching at the warm, slippery touch of it against his own cock, his balls.

"Fo-o-ox..."

There was enough warning in that shaky voice for him to realize that if he went on like this for much longer they would both end up *very* disappointed. He placed one hand behind Krycek's neck to steady himself, he needed something to hang on to, while the other hand was busy guiding Krycek's cock to its rightful destination. Before he had an opportunity to brace himself for the invasion, the other man thrust forward hard, making him yelp in pain and pleasure. 

"Sorry."

"'S okay."

Krycek quickly established a rhythm, slow, unremitting, annoying. Mulder wanted more and he knew Krycek knew he wanted more. He wasn't going to beg though. He bit his tongue, feeling the sweet taste of blood in his mouth, clamping down on the words that were reverberating in his scull: <Harder... faster...>

"Do you remember what you used to call me?" He blinked in confusion. Remember? His memory, eidetic or not, didn't work at the moment. How could it? With all the blood of his body trickling off to his midsection, his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. Did he have a special name for Krycek back then?

Maybe.

Perhaps. 

"My demon."

They'd been fighting. Mulder had got one of his recurring conscience attacks, feeling guilty for abandoning his search for the truth and for possibly compromising his career, and he'd been yelling at Krycek, calling him a demon from hell sent to seduce and tempt him, making him forget his real mission in life. He'd had no idea how right he'd been.

"Mine," he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes. Yours."

He could barely hear Krycek's words. They sounded like they came from far away and through a fuzzy haze and he had to concentrate hard to make sense of them. His legs were beginning to feel cramped from their drawn-up position, and he relaxed them slightly, letting his heels rest on the back of Krycek's thighs. He *could* focus though. Krycek had no idea how well he could focus. But only on one thing at a time. 

His own whimpering moans and Krycek's animal grunts. The clanking of metal along metal every time Krycek made the tiniest move.

The splash of a blood drop on his cheek, and then one more, as Krycek's nose started to bleed again.

His hand joining Krycek's between their slippery bodies, fondling a cock almost too sensitized to touch.

The leather of Krycek's jacket sliding against his skin, zipper catching in the hair on his chest, sending tingling flashes of pain down his spine.

Krycek's lips on his, soft and tender, in stark contrast with the frenzy and insistence of their coupling. 

The searing heat in his body, flowing in waves, signaling his impending orgasm. 

Krycek's cock plunging in, drawing out, ramming in, pulling out. He was starting to lose his unfaltering rhythm, thrusting faster, harder, nearly forcing Mulder off the bed. Then Mulder's eyes rolled back and he screamed as one fiery, electrical spasm shot through his body and then another

and another

and 

. . .

Vaguely, distantly, as if his body wasn't his anymore, he could feel Krycek's final thrusts, and then the wind was knocked out of his lungs as the other man fell flat, and rather ungraciously, down upon him. Mulder's limbs felt heavy, and he wished he could just fall asleep and not wake up for several days. He sure needed the rest.

<You give me what I want.>

And what he wanted was to forget, if only for a short moment. Forget about the quest, the nightmares and the guilt. For a few blessed seconds he wanted to be absolved, at peace. It was the irony of his life and a great pity that he should have found this serenity only in the arms of a traitor and a murderer. 

Krycek rolled off him, handcuffs clanging, reminding Mulder of why they were here. The cold, speculative gleam in Krycek's eyes that had vanished temporarily when they made love, had returned again. "Does this mean you're gonna let me go now?" he asked.

Mulder didn't answer, only stared up at the ceiling, willing his tears to disappear. If only he hadn't been right. If only, for once in his life, Krycek could have done something because he really wanted to, not because his survival depended upon it. If only. But those were futile thoughts. Krycek was Krycek, and there was nothing Mulder could do to change him.

That's when his cell phone started to ring out in the living room.

*** The End. ***


End file.
